See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil
by Emma Swan
Summary: Maura admits that she has feelings for Jane, but their relationship is tested by a gruesome murder and an internal investigation.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Rated M for a gruesome depiction of a triple homicide. One of the victims is a child.

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><p>The sky opened up like a man cut at the throat—with a warm spurt and gush of rain that flooded the streets of Boston. No children were outside, even though it was a summer afternoon and Jane saw evidence of their presence on every corner: there were two abandoned blue and green bicycles and a basketball that had rolled into the road. There was even a pink and white tricycle with spinning wheels, lacking only the tiny driver. It seemed that everyone had avoided the storm and retreated indoors to their own quiet pursuits.<p>

That was, of course, with the exception of two people who hardly knew how to be quiet: Angela Rizzoli was positioned over the stove in her daughter's kitchen, with Dr. Maura Isles close at hand. The pair hovered above a pot that was simmering and bubbling, and Mrs. Rizzoli occasionally gave it a stir. They were engrossed in their conversation and failed to notice when Jane ambled into the apartment, drenched and irritable.

With solemn, unblinking eyes, Jane listened to their incessant chatter for at least half a minute. Her mouth formed a thin, tight line as she registered that they were talking about her.

"Yes, that is what I always tell her. She needs to start seeing more people, or at least go out more often."

Maura was in the process of agreeing with Mrs. Rizzoli when she turned around and her eyes settled on the dark-haired detective. "Jane!"

"Oh, there you are," Mrs. Rizzoli chirped in belated greeting, twirling around to look at her daughter. "What happened to you?"

Maura wore a toothy smile, and spoke like a schoolgirl who had all of the answers: "It seems she ignored my suggestion to bring an umbrella today, even after I explained that our current weather patterns indicated the likelihood of a storm."

Jane made a whining noise and yanked her neck back in exasperation. "Could you maybe gloat later?" She asked, stamping her feet. "I need a towel."

The detective's hair was an unruly mess—her curls dripped rivulets down her back and neck. Her t-shirt and black pants formed an outer skin over her body, glued to her torso and legs. The ugly and practical pumps that she favored were covered heel-to-toe with mud and grass, as if she had intentionally crossed through a swamp on the way home.

Maura cheerfully acquiesced and retrieved a towel from Jane's bedroom, knowing that her smile alone would nettle her closest friend and she need not say more. When she returned to the kitchen, she watched while Jane removed her footwear and wrapped herself in the cotton towel.

Casually Maura plucked up one of Jane's pumps and peered it as though it was an object foreign to her. Then she deposited it in the nearby trash receptacle, with a thud. Her eye roved over to find its mate, just as Jane hollered, "Maura!"

"What? They're filthy. Besides, you're overdue for a new pair of shoes. I'll gladly pay to replace them." Before Jane could protest, Maura snatched up her other shoe and chucked it into the garbage, then went to sit beside her friend.

Mrs. Rizzoli lifted the pot from the stove and poured its contents into a strainer over the sink. "Oh I agree with Dr. Isles, babe," she commented.

"It seems the two of you have been conspiring against me a lot lately," Jane told them.

"Conspiring against you?" Mrs. Rizzoli's voice rose sharply as she puttered around, dumping penne pasta from the strainer into a bowl. She then added a mixture of cheeses, butter and her homemade sauce. "_Conspiring against you_? Dr. Isles and I have spent all afternoon slaving away to make you dinner and this is your attitude?"

"Your mother gave me a cooking lesson," Maura's smile never dimmed, and she clasped her hands adoringly as she looked at Angela. "She's a fabulous cook."

The detective slumped like a puppet on loose strings and groaned because her mother's question was rhetorical and Maura was incorrigible.

"I'm going to change," she grunted.

With Maura at her heels, Jane stalked through the kitchen towards her bedroom. Once there, she traded her wet clothing for a baggy gray sweatshirt and a pair of black shorts.

Maura sat patiently on the bed with her legs tucked neatly together while Jane was changing in the bathroom. Her eyes darted to the door and she sought to compose herself, though she was wearing an expression that betrayed her frustration. Her mouth was screwed up into a frown and her eyes appeared glazed, as if she was contemplating some troublesome subject like nuclear physics or nanotechnology.

Jane finally emerged, drying her hair on a fresh bath towel. The sight of Maura incited her to smirk. It was the type of smirk that looked like it had been put there by the tip of a painter's brush—small, mischievous, assuming. "What's wrong?" she asked Maura, tossing her sullied clothes in a heap by the hamper. "Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess."

The doctor cringed, her terror causing her to stiffen as though in the throes of rigor mortis.

Jane's eyes locked on Maura's and her smirk faltered, but her voice was like a striking hammer with in its unrelenting, gleeful assertion: "You're tired of my mother and you aren't sure how to get rid of her!"

The way that Maura reacted was an impressive testament to her inability to function like a normal human being; she sat there at first and did nothing at all. With round eyes and a gaping mouth, she stared up at Jane. Then she delivered the truth in a perfunctory way:

"Actually," one of her eyes retracted slightly as she began, but otherwise her countenance was untouched by emotion, "I think—and I say that not as a _guess,_ but just as a matter of expression—_I think that_ _I... love you._"

The detective's eyebrows shot inward and then outward, performing this dance several more times before her mouth and facial muscles became lax. She was vaguely aware that her expression was in constant flux through no effort of her own, and she heard herself emit a shaky laugh.

"What do you mean?"

"I've never used that word before in this type of context, even though it's been in my vocabulary since I learned how to speak. Of course I didn't know the textbook definition of the word when I was sixteen months old, but…"

"Maura," Jane snappishly cut her off. By now she was pacing in front of the doctor, impatient for clarification. "Help me understand."

Maura shifted on the bed, straightening the back of her colorful skirt as she stood and took measured steps towards Jane. She claimed both of the detective's hands and held them in her own, her voice wavering: "It isn't scientific, Jane. It's not something I can explain. I mean, the thought crossed my mind that I could have a hormonal imbalance, but now I'm sure I don't. I have feelings for you."

Dr. Isles never made a statement without a qualifier, but Jane was accustomed to all of her quirks and oddities. It was at the point that she even found them endearing. With soft eyes, Jane leaned closer, enfolded Maura into a hug and inhaled the scent of her honeyed blonde hair. When they parted, it was with averted gazes and backward shuffles. In the impending quiet, Jane went back to drying her hair while Maura hung up the damp clothing that the detective had carelessly discarded on the floor.

Mrs. Rizzoli came to find them then, nudging the bedroom door open.

"Sweetie, your father's on the phone. Why didn't you tell me that you went to see him this afternoon?"

There was a spark of hurt in her mother's tone that brought Jane to attention. It had been a year since her parents' divorce, but her mother still viewed it as a personal affront when any of her children visited their father. Angela justified her feelings by reminding them how Mr. Rizzoli had sold the family house and—as they later discovered—used his half of the money to buy a motorboat. He had also bought an apartment that was big enough to fit only two—himself, and the beautiful Caroline, whom he had been seeing for the last few months.

"Ma, he's been asking me to come by for weeks now. What was I supposed to do?"

Maura interceded by linking arms with Mrs. Rizzoli and peering down at her, as patient as though she was dealing with a small child complaining of a paper cut.

"I think I must have distracted Jane earlier. I'm certain she meant to tell you. Didn't you, Jane?"

Maura soothingly petted Mrs. Rizzoli's hand. She gave Jane a look that might have been suggestive of a threat—that is, if it was more menacing and less comical.

"Uh, right, I did. Dr. Isles can be very distracting…" There was a moment in which she might have elaborated, but it was long past by the time Jane realized how her choice of words might be interpreted. The brunette hung there in suspension, apparently lost by her own contribution to the conversation.

"Okay, I'd better get the phone," Jane exited the room without allowing herself to glance at Maura, because she knew the doctor would be the astute interpreter of all she said—she was sure that her words had reinstalled that toothy, complacent smile on the blonde's face.

Mrs. Rizzoli and Maura followed Jane into the kitchen, where they busied themselves with the final preparations for dinner. Although they attempted to eavesdrop on Jane's conversation with her father, they found it difficult to keep their focus because Jane refused to stand still.

When Jane hung up, she grabbed her handbag and fished out her wallet, a package of ruined tissues, a notepad which bore unintelligible writing, and her cellphone. She ripped open the back of her phone and pulled out the dead battery.

"Fried by the rain," she told Maura, who had come over to scrutinize her questionable activities. "Explains why my Dad couldn't reach me on my cell."

"Is everything okay?"

Jane's voice was subdued as she answered Maura. "Yeah. Just forgot a box of my stuff." She tied her hair into a loose ponytail and sat down on the couch in the living room.

Meanwhile Mrs. Rizzoli was setting plates and glasses on Jane's countertop table and scooping pasta onto each plate. When she saw her daughter getting settled on the couch, she shook her serving spoon at her and barked, "No! You know this will taste lousy if it's cold. Come and eat."

With limited resistance, Jane peeled herself away from the couch and went to sit on one of the tall stools in her kitchen. Maura joined her, tucking a napkin under her chin in order to avoid destroying her designer blouse. They both watched as Angela tore off her apron and walked away to find her purse.

"Aren't you going to have dinner with us?" Maura asked.

"As a matter of fact, I have a date," Mrs. Rizzoli informed them.

"A date?" Jane choked, dropping her fork and staring wildly after her mother. "With who?"

Resisting the urge to correct Jane's grammar, Maura stuffed pasta into her mouth and chewed quietly.

"Stanley," Angela huffed, crossing her arms in a preemptively defensive stance.

"You aren't serious. Ma, the guy spits in my coffee!"

"I think you're being silly. He wouldn't do something so vulgar."

"You want to bet?"

With owlish eyes, Maura observed their argument and determined it was best not to voice her opinion. But then, perhaps because of her sudden stillness, Jane and Mrs. Rizzoli turned to her in expectation that she would play the savant and offer up some wisdom on the matter. The two women were opposites in so many ways—the daughter with sharp edges and rough movements, the mother softer and almost coaxing—yet they both had a distinctly intimidating presence.

Mrs. Rizzoli would not let Jane get the upper hand and therefore spoke first: "It's time I start dating. Don't you agree, Dr. Isles?"

"I suppose you should start dating again, but you might want to consider seeing someone other than Stanley," Maura responded in a gentle, lulling tone. "I only say this because he poisoned nine officers in Vice when you were home sick last month," she added.

"Yeah, serves them right for ordering the breakfast special," Jane's face lightened as she laughed a cynical, quiet laugh. "Ain't nothing special about a breakfast sandwich that looks like it was scooped out of the stomach of one of our victims."

"Well you don't have to worry. He's taking me _out_ for dinner." Angela slid the strap of her purse further up her shoulder, as a signal that she was not going to change her mind about going on the date. With a raised chin, she went towards the door and let herself out. "You two behave yourselves," she told them in lieu of saying goodbye.

"I wonder if you'll get more like your mother when you get older," Maura commented as she speared a noodle and raised it to her lips.

Jane's eyebrows jumped towards the ceiling and she barked, "_Do you_?"

On the verge of amending what she had said, Maura heard her cellphone ring and slipped from her chair to get it. The detective sat poised to resume their discussion, a wisecrack ready on her tongue.

"Hey Dr. Isles," Frost's voice was eager on the phone, and Maura could hear Korsak in the background. "I haven't been able to reach Jane on her cell."

"And you naturally assumed we're together."

"Yes, that was my hope. We're going to need you both at 110 Wilcott Court. Triple homicide. Holding the bodies at the scene. "

"ETA fifteen minutes, twenty if there's traffic. See you soon," Maura spoke hurriedly and then clicked the 'end' button on her phone. Her handbag was on her shoulder and she was halfway to the door by the time she got around to telling Jane, "Triple homicide. Let's go."

Since Jane's mouth was full, her reply was garbled: "Whuuh! Ay idn't Frah all ay haws uhbuh?"

"Try swallowing first and then talk to me. I would rather not give you the Heimlich maneuver, because I'm pretty sure you'd fight back. Mouth to mouth resuscitation, however…"

Maura tilted her head flirtatiously and batted at a few of her wavy curls, as she opted not to conclude that final thought.

The doctor's smile was unbearably bright to Jane. It seemed, in fact, to be brighter than the sun, and also in possession of the requisite power to burn and change the coloration in her face. The tall brunette felt her cheeks flush red—first from Maura's insult, and then self-consciously as she thought about what it would be like to kiss Maura.

"Maura…" Jane groaned.

But the shorter woman took a firm hold of the detective's wrist and tugged her along, out of the apartment and down to the street where their vehicles were parked. Tacitly they reached the agreement that Jane would drive. It was only after their seatbelts were buckled and they had driven halfway down the street that Maura intoned: "You never let me drive."

"It's not like you need my permission to drive. I just usually end up driving…"

Dr. Isles angled herself toward s the driver's seat, while Jane's eyes roved from the rearview mirrors to the side mirrors, and back to the road. There was a defensiveness in Jane's posture that Maura overlooked, and the blonde was similarly unaware of how Jane was avoiding her frequent glances. When they were paused at a light, the detective stretched and pulled a jacket and matching pants out of the backseat. At subsequent lights, Jane changed into her professional clothes.

"Oh, yes," Maura blathered. "I let you drive primarily because it gives you the illusion of dominance and control. There have been several studies done about driving and aggression, you know…"

"Well, you can tell me all about how aggressive I am after we solve this case," Jane rejoined.

"Looking forward to it."

The detective eased her car to a stop and then stared at Maura. Her fingers whitened as she continued to grip the wheel long after she had shifted gears into park.

Though she was aware they had arrived at 110 Wilcott Court, the doctor sat unmoving and stared back at Jane.

"I think I…"

Maura knew that Jane was speaking, but her voice was suddenly overridden by a deeper baritone.

"Nick Bennet, Internal Affairs."

Nick had a face that appeared carved rather than organically formed, with piercing blue eyes that wholly occupied the onlooker's attention. He was bent low over the hood of the car, peering in at the women with interest, as if they were tropical fish in a tank. After he introduced himself, he straightened his back and adjusted his necktie.

Jane was turned from her, but Maura knew she was agitated because of the tension in her lateral triceps. Scooting nearer to the driver's side, she fit her head in the scant space between the dashboard and Jane's body, intercepting any potentially negative exchange that might occur between the detective and Nick Bennett.

"Dr. Isles," she announced, offering her hand through the open window.

Nick accepted Maura's hand, but his eyes traveled elsewhere as he shook with her. His attention was fixed on Jane Rizzoli, and the doctor's mind was generating the list of muscles it took for him to produce that attractive smile: the orbicularis oris, quadratus labii superioris, and zygomaticus major and minor were active, as well as the risorius, buccinatoris and the triangularis.

At last Jane realized that Nick was looking intently at her. Her reaction was to glance back at him and rub the corner of her mouth in case she had food on her face. When his smile remained unaffected, Jane waggled her eyebrows at Maura and clenched her teeth. Under her breath, the detective hissed _what the hell._ Then she composed herself, mustering patience as she got out of the car, and helped Maura out behind her.

"You alright?" Jane asked him, in a tone which implied that she suspected him of having a rare brain disease.

"Sure." Nick shrugged as he led them through the yellow crime scene tape and into the house. In turn, they each flashed their badges to the team of officers that had been set up outside to guard the premises.

"Twenty-six minutes, Dr. Isles." Frost greeted them, offering up a box that contained sterile latex gloves.

"It only took twenty minutes to get here. We stopped to talk to Nick." Maura blinked several times as she said this, carefully pulling on a pair of gloves and dutifully turning into the room in which the bodies were placed.

The three bodies—man, woman, and child—were sitting around a dining room table. The windows were shuttered, but a sliver of natural light filtered in from the adjoining kitchenette. The male victim was portly and balding, age forty-four; his wife was blonde and petite, age thirty-eight; and their daughter was seven, with a short haircut and muddy sneakers. There were signs that the victims were tortured and each body had been mutilated in some way. The father's ears were missing, the mother's lips had been removed, and the child's eyes were gouged out.

Upon entering the room, Jane and Maura came to a brief standstill and then propelled themselves forward into action. While Maura knelt to examine the bodies, Jane conferred with Korsak and Frost.

"This here is Daniel Hennessy, his wife Gertrude and their daughter Caitlin. They were discovered earlier this afternoon by Neil Jacobson—a boy who lives across the street. It was raining, so he came over to watch movies with his best friend," Korsak motioned to the little girl's lifeless body.

"Neil's with the social worker now, but we'll be able to interview him later." Korsak zigzagged around the bodies as he continued to relay what he had learned so far. "We don't have any suspects yet, but we think the perp was trying to send a message to someone."

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil?" Maura gestured to each body that was intended to illustrate the old adage.

"Right," Korsak nodded.

"Dare I ask you for the cause of death before we get them back to the lab?" Jane looked to Maura.

"It appears that the mutilations were inflicted post mortem, but this family was clearly tortured to death. I need to run further tests, but I believe the mother and child both died of some form of strangulation. The father died of other causes," Maura's mouth became flat as she considered the face of each victim, and her eyes became hollow- looking.

With her hands on her hips, Jane soaked in this information and then spun on Korsak, prepared to assail him with questions. "So why are the guys from Internal Affairs here? Who's being investigated?"

While Korsak took a moment to think about how he could word it, Frost was direct: "They're investigating you, Rizzoli." And before she could question why, he added: "For the use of 'unnecessary force' on the Talbot case."

Both Korsak and Frost showed their displeasure by scowling at Nick Bennet, who was looming in the doorway, overseeing their operation. Having discarded her first set of sterile gloves, Dr. Isles rose from the floor and put a hand on Jane's shoulder. The act served a dual purpose—to comfort and restrain. Jane's nostrils flared and her eyes took on a dulled light.

"Don't worry, Rizzoli. There was no misconduct on the Talbot case. Bennet just has to follow you around for a few days and write up some reports. It's nothing more than that," Korsak reassured her, but Jane's fury had already manifested itself in her face.

The doctor knew Jane would not respond well to reassurances, but she would be temporarily mollified if she was engaged in her work. Since that was her privately-reached conclusion, Maura reminded them all, "We have a job to do."

Detective Rizzoli was briefly rigid, but then she crouched down near the body of the small child, lifting one of her limp legs. Solving the murder of the family took precedent over breaking one or both of Nick Bennet's arms. "Her shoes have fresh mud on them," she said to no one in particular.

"Yes, the family must have been murdered early this afternoon. They're still quite warm to the touch." Dr. Isles frowned.

"Did you speak to the neighbors?" Jane eyed Detective Frost.

"The Jeffries family is vacationing in Florida for the week. We had hotel management confirm the presence of the father, mother and son." Frost counted them off on his fingers. "The Truceau family was visiting Grandma across town all afternoon, and the Hammonds were at a Sunday church event. The Jacobsons were at home, but they were the ones who reported the murder. Their son is traumatized by finding his little girl friend like this.''

As she envisioned the small boy who had gone to seek his playmate and instead found the sightless, abused girl who sat before them, Jane became nauseated and pressed her forefingers to her temples. "The Jacobsons didn't see anyone go into the house?"

"Nope," Frost said.

The afterglow of the summer rainstorm had faded and it had grown dark outside. A young officer flipped the circular switches on the wall to turn up the lighting in the room.

"Why didn't you call us sooner?" Jane whined, though the answer to that inquiry was obvious to the four of them.

"You were unreachable and we left two voicemails on Isles' cell," Korsak explained, distracted enough to respond to silly questions. He was in the process of collecting and bagging any items that might serve as evidence.

Meanwhile, Dr. Isles resumed her survey of the bodies, prepping them to be transported to the lab. It was meticulous work which required her full concentration.

Frost handed Rizzoli a camera and she snapped pictures of the scene, silent until Bennet decided to stroll over and stand by her side. Her skin bristled as he smiled at her, then proceeded to pace in her vicinity like a pet that preferred to be at the heels of his master.

"Can I help you?" Jane froze Bennet with cold glittery eyes, embracing the sudden adrenaline rush that accompanied her bursting hostility.

"I just thought you'd want to know that I like you, Jane. I'm not going to write anything in my reports that will jeopardize your career." Nick's baby blues were placid and his body language further confirmed that he was not disturbed by Jane's belligerence. He even busied himself by dusting off the edge of his crisp white shirt, as though their conversation had little weight or meaning for him.

It was a shock to hear him nonchalantly use her first name, but her heated temper did not allow her to overthink what that implied. Jane instantly spat at him: "Just stay out of my way. I don't care what you write in your report. I'm not going to let you interfere with this investigation." Then she flew off in the opposite direction, stirring the air with the momentum of her movement.

From his station in the corner, Korsak waved Rizzoli over while he chatted on the phone with Frankie. "Your brother's helping us out on this one," he notified Jane as she came nearer, putting his palm over the receiver. "He's back at HQ with a team. They're going through the files on Hennessy's computer. Apparently the man had a lot of business contacts with records for fraud, tax evasion, and other offenses. Politicians, famous lawyers, wealthy bankers, influential doctors— the list goes on and on. You won't believe who's on it."

Amused, the old Detective lifted his bushy eyebrows and pursed his thick lips into a grin that revealed only the top set of his teeth. When he hung up the phone, he fished around in his pocket for a piece of candy, and with clumsy fingers, unwrapped the foil around the chocolate.

"You want some Rizzoli?" Out of politeness, Korsak held out the sweet he had gone through the trouble of unpackaging, but when Jane declined, he wasted no time popping it into his waiting mouth.

"I want to see this list. If our congressman is on it, I'm going to interrogate him just for raising this year's taxes. " Jane's contralto tones were deeper than usual because she was emotional from her interaction with Bennet, but she was practiced in disguising her distress with humor.

"You'll see it after you interview the Jacobson boy. Speaking of which, you and Frost better cut out of here before it gets any later. I don't know what that damn social worker thinks she's doing, but no earthly power is going to erase that terrible memory from the kid's mind." Korsak grumbled and fixed the collar of his shirt. His nose was scrunched and he looked at the wall as if he had powers of farseeing and could tell exactly which hare-brained tactics the social worker was using with the child.

"Actually," Maura piped in only to disprove him, "neurobiologists at the Shanghai Institute are exploring new methods by which selective memories can be erased from the mind, chiefly for the purpose of reducing the effects of psychological trauma."

Korsak regarded the doctor with a look that a father might give a daughter who had failed to grow out of her teenage awkwardness. He had the habit of treating them all like they were his misfit children and behaved as though it was his responsibility to guide them in life. His voice was cordial and almost consoling as he said, "Dr. Isles, we need to find you a nice fella."

"Yeah, preferably one who can understand what she's saying," Jane joked and her dimples became visible.

With a belly laugh and a grin, Korsak expressed his approval. Frost was on the phone but came wandering over when he heard the conversation and covered his mouth to conceal his own amusement. Maura's eyebrows twitched inward and she looked momentarily crestfallen, but when Jane batted her playfully on the shoulder, she retaliated with a weak swat.

Frost interrupted them then, lowering his phone from his ear and returning it to his pocket. "Let's go – Let's go," he ordered, swinging his arms in the readiness of motion required to pitch a baseball. "We need to get back. We have clearance to interview the kid."

With a jerky, sweeping movement toward the door, Jane nodded. "Alright—Frost, ride with me. Maura, finish up and come in with Korsak."

Opening and shutting her mouth, Maura found she was unable to speak until they had already gone. "Oh, okay. Bye! See you later!" She called out after them, but only Korsak, Nick Bennet and a handful of other officers were within range of hearing her.

There was a haze over the moon when Rizzoli and Frost emerged from the car and hurried into headquarters. Jane was the first to spot Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson, whose wearied eyes attracted her like beacons. The couple was sitting on a bench with their son wedged between them.

Neil Jacobson was a fat child whose face was dotted with freckles and who peeped up at them boldly from behind thick-rimmed glasses.

"I'm Detective Rizzoli and this is my partner, Detective Frost." Jane shook hands with the mother and father and then focused on their child, kneeling down in special greeting.

Though she wanted to speak with the parents too, Jane addressed Neil first, "We'd like to ask you a few questions if that would be okay." Her eyes sought his, but the boy was gazing at the action figure that was perched on top of Frost's desk.

"The nice police officers want to help," Mr. Jacobson reassured his son, and patted him on the back.

"Okay," Neil muttered, sliding off of the bench.

"We'll be right here waiting for you if you need us, sweetheart," the boy's mother reminded him. She reached forward to fluff up his curly blonde hair.

Neil did not respond to his mother, but he gave a faint nod of the head to confirm he heard her.

Instead of using one of the small and uninviting interrogation rooms, the detectives directed Neil to Jane's desk, where he interned himself in her chair. Before they could begin a line of questioning, Neil trained his measuring stare on them and asked pointedly, "Where did you two find Zyrterg?"

Baffled, Jane glanced at Frost to see if he understood. "Zyrterg?"

Neil pointed a chubby finger at Frost's beloved action figure.

"Oh, that isn't Zyrterg," Frost chuckled, but his expression underwent a change as he saw the boy's face fall.

"You – mean – _Zyrterg -_ isn't - his – first - name!" Jane corrected, over enunciating each word and blinking rapidly in case Frost was slow on the uptake.

Neil whispered inaudibly to himself, pulled his knees up to his chest and began playing with the rubber on the tops of his sneakers. All either of them could make out was a quiet mumbling about _Zyrterg. _

Jane silently communicated that she was annoyed with her partner—first with threatening hand motions and then with dangerous looks.

"Hey, Neil," Frost ignored Rizzoli and leaned in towards the boy. "How old are you?"

"Six years, two months, and nine days," the kid answered, still picking at his sneakers.

"That's, uhm, very precise," Jane shared a look with Frost.

Neil shrugged, wiping his nose with the backside of his hand. His eyes traveled over to Maura Isles, who was exiting the elevator and taking tiny birdlike steps towards Jane's desk. Draped in a cardigan and toting a briefcase, the woman reminded him of his first grade teacher.

"You look like my teacher from last year, only you don't smell like dog poo," Neil told her as she came to a stop in front of him.

Dr. Isles smiled and chose to take what he said as a compliment, though the slight contraction of her left eyebrow signified that she was uncertain if that was what he intended. Her voice spiked a decibel as she said, "Oh, thank you."

Jane gawked at Maura while the doctor tiptoed around them and seated herself on the edge of the desk, in a place that she had apparently deemed to be unintrusive. The boy willfully strained his neck to continue looking at her.

"Can we play a game?" Neil scooted off of his chair and went after the doctor, captivated by the polka dots on her skirt.

Jane was at a loss for how to deal with the boy's lack of attention span, and sat there tongue-tied while he prodded at the medical examiner.

Frost was similarly unable to determine how they could best handle the situation, but he felt that Dr. Isles had volunteered her assistance the second that the kid anchored himself to her multi-colored apparel. To any child under the age of ten, he was sure that she looked like a walking game of Twister.

"What should we play?" Maura indulged the six-year-old.

"I'm the astronaut and you can be the astronaut's girlfriend," the boy instructed Dr. Isles. "He's the bad guy," he added, motioning to Detective Frost. "And she's his slave," he concluded, referring to Rizzoli.

Though Jane objected to the game and crossed her arms in firm opposition from the start, she was reeled back in by the boy's role assignment. Her partner laughed as she dropped her arms and sat bolt upright, suddenly more willing to participate.

"What? Why do I have to be the slave?" Jane squawked. She glared at Frost until his laughter subsided.

Neil shrugged.

The detective squinted as she tried to think of what other profession she might have pursued had she decided not to become a cop. "I want to be…"

"A pro fighter," Frost proposed, taking a jab at the air.

"I can decide for myself."

If Maura had not been analyzing the boy's game, she might have advocated for the right to have a pretend job or at least a name other than _the astronaut's girlfriend_. But she was silent and contemplative, proving at once that she was a lousy playmate, and at the same time missing a perfect opportunity to tease Jane.

Neil stole around the desk and ducked behind it, surfacing only to shoot invisible missiles at Detective Frost. He rolled over on the floor and stared up at Dr. Isles with a critical gleam in his eye.

"The bad guy can attack you up there."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Maura glanced around at Frost and then transferred to the floor beside Neil, tucking her legs to prevent her skirt from riding up. "Do you think we could save Detective Rizzoli?"

Neil gave a winded response, "No, she belongs to the bad guy." Then, without skipping a beat, he asked, "Can we do something else?"

"Why don't you draw some pictures for us?"

Overhearing their chat, Jane shuffled off to find crayons and a pack of white paper. Wordlessly handing them to Maura, she lingered long enough for the boy to sketch stick figures fighting under trees that looked like giant green blob monsters. When each picture was complete, Neil handed it over to the doctor and she tried to interpret it.

Meanwhile, Detective Frank Rizzoli and his partner Michael Chase ventured into the room and notified Frost that they would be interviewing Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson. Their task force had expanded to include four other detectives, but even with the added resources, they would all be working through the night.

It was after eleven o'clock when the Jacobsons were permitted to leave. As they were standing in front of the elevator banks, Frost hurried out to bid them a last farewell. There were no observers to witness his act of kindness.

"You think you could take care of this guy for me?" Detective Frost's eyes twinkled as he extended a hand in which he grasped the blue and white action doll that Neil so enthusiastically referred to as _Zyrterg_.

"Yes," the boy promised him, accepting the gift.

The jaws of the elevator opened then, and the family scuttled inside.

Hours later, Dr. Isles and Detective Jane Rizzoli left their offices. As they walked out to Jane's car, the detective slipped her key into the doctor's hand and crawled into the passenger's seat.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note<strong>: I wrote this a while ago. Not sure if I intend to continue it, since there is another story I'm working on that takes precedence over it. Obviously the story is not complete.


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